“You’re right,” said Tom, “and we don’t have any time to waste, but Bud and I both have personal scores to settle with that bunch.”
“Remember this,” said Ames. “The rocket project of these rivals may be on the level even if it’s secret. The crimes of the group that have been bothering 98 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ROCKET SHIP
you may be instigated by the national backers and not known to the scientists who are building the rocket.”
“That’s good logic,” Tom conceded as he turned his attention to the coded note.
Using a code book he took from the drawer, Tom, with the security man’s help, pored over the note signed by Rotzog, trying to decipher its message.
“It must be in a foreign language,” Tom finally decided. “We’ll have to get the FBI to help us.”
The young scientist walked to the videophone, flicked on the New York circuit, and got Rick Dalton, his Northeast telecaster. Holding the paper up before the camera, Tom asked him to photograph the message from his screen and go at once to the FBI office to have it decoded.
“Call back as soon as you can,” Tom urged. “I’ll hold our prisoner here until we hear from you.”
“Okay, Tom!” Dalton replied, and faded off the screen.
In the meantime, Tom had the equipment from Shopton moved to his laboratory. If he felt after a thorough test that the new interplanetary gyro was better than the one which had been installed in the rocket, he would make the switch.
Bud arrived, and for two hours the boys busied themselves with delicate adjustments of the intricate equipment. Before Tom had a chance to run a final check, he was summoned to the videophone.